Rescued
by youre-a-toaster
Summary: When Blaine's hopes and dreams shatter, how can he possibly move on?  Le angst! Hopefully less angst later. Yeah... There'll be less angst later   Give it a go. Reviews are cookies to me.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I know right? 'LOUISEEEE! Y U NO FINISH FICS B4 U START OTHA 1S!' Because that's not how I roll! :')_

_I'm not even going to tell you anything about it. Read away ;)_

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

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><p><em>You have one new message. New message One: received Friday, nine thirty-four AM.<em>

_"The service starts in two hours. If you don't come, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."_

_"I'm sorry I snapped. I shouldn't have snapped. I was totally out of line. Just… You will be there tomorrow won't you?"_

_"Still no answer? It's been over a week. In the nicest way possible, you need to get a grip. You need to talk to us. Talk to someone. Have you actually left the house? Are you eating? God dammit would you just answer the–"_

_"Remember me? It's your sister. Thought you'd like to know we're coming down this weekend for the funeral. He was our family too."_

_"Please answer the phone. Please get out of bed. Just please, please, please do something, anything remotely productive. He wouldn't want this."_

_"I know you're there. I know you're choosing not to answer the phone. Pick up… Please pick up... We just want to make sure you're okay."_

_"Mom's getting worried, no one's heard from you in days. I know it's hard but you need to talk to someone. You need to go out. You can't stay in that house forever."_

_"I get it, you want some space. If you need anything, anything, just phone. I'm right here. Love you little brother."_

_"I'm so sorry. She's not letting me have any time off work. I'm stuck here 'till Friday, but then I'm all yours. I promise."_

_"I-it's me. I just heard. I-is it true? No. No… are you okay? E-e-everything's going to be al-r-r-right–"_

_"Baby, just finished work so I'll be home in twenty minutes. I'm feeling… Chinese food? I'll pick up those green bean things you like so much. And I'm choosing the movie tonight; last night was probably the worst thing I've ever watched. Open a bottle of wine ready, I'm feeling cuddly. I love you Blaine."_

I'm torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry. Crying wins out. I hiccup and sob as I crawl back into the bed I'd spent the past week building up the courage to move out of. Our bed. Our room. Our house. I pull his pillow to my face and inhale. If I were being honest with myself, I would know it was no longer him I smelt, it's now just days of sweat and must and dirt but I fool myself because the lie that it's him is so much better than the reality that he'll never lay here with me again. His arms won't protectively curl round me as we sleep, his sweet breath won't ghost over my neck and cheek. I'll never run my hands through his silky hair or feel his soft skin beneath my fingertips. The only sound of his voice I have left is the week-old recording on our five-dollar answer machine, the sound crackled and distorted, the universe's way of dealing one final blow for how much I miss everything about him.

But my sister is right. I need to do this for him. The amount of effort it takes to get out of bed is unbelievable; my legs feel like lead as I stand up and drag them towards the bathroom. Our bathroom. I carefully pull off the oversized t-shirt of his I've been wearing for longer than I'd like to admit and fold it carefully on the hamper. I keep his ring around my neck. I see my reflection in the mirror and barely believe it's actually me. My cheeks are sunken, my eyes are red, everything about me screams misery.

I step into the shower and I don't wince when the ice cold water caresses my skin. I barely feel it. I go through the motions of washing, my limbs moving at their own accord. I turn the water off, I step out, I dry.

The reflection in the mirror hasn't improved.

I decide to shave, carefully moving around all of his undisturbed items, for a moment I can quite easily believe he's still asleep next door. If I blink he'll bound into the room with that lazy grin he always sports, he'll wrap his arms around me and whisper groggily in my ear about how he doesn't like waking up alone. He'll then bury his head in the crook of my neck and kiss the skin there, I'll lean back into the touch with a smile. I feel nothing but air.

I sniff and swallow the lump-which-feels-like-a-mountain in my throat and make myself as presentable as I can be for the service.

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><p>Rachel practically throws herself at me when I finally get there. She gives me a shaky smile while trying to hide the fact she'd obviously just been crying. She avoids my eyes as she therapeutically straightens my tie and she purses her lips together. After a moment to compose herself, she pecks me on the cheek and hugs me tightly.<p>

I barely have any motivation to react.

"Glad you made it, little brother." She pulls away and adjusts my collar again.

Finn comes over shortly after, cradling their one year old in his arms. Seeing their little family so happy together is yet another slap in the face, reminding me once again of everything that had been taken from me. Memories from weeks ago swim around my head.

"_You're serious about this?" I ask._

"_Deadly," he laughs. "Come on Blaine, I know you think about it too."_

"_But… Babies? Really? Are we ready?"_

"_It's not like we haven't discussed it before."_

"_I know," I agree, "but – correct me if I'm wrong – there is quite a big difference between seeing babies and thinking 'So adorable, I want one!' and actually having a baby."_

"_I think we could do it," he grins._

"_Have you even seen us?" I try and protest but we both know I want a family just as much as he does, I can feel any resolve I have on the issue completely slipping away._

"_I know right, we're awesome."_

"_That's not exactly what I meant." What I mean starts to become blurred as he crawls towards me from the other side of the couch and pins me beneath him._

"_Blaine?" he breathes an inch from my lips._

_I hum in response._

"_Will you have a baby with me?"_

_All I can do is laugh and nod as he kisses me passionately._

I swallow the acid on my tongue and offer the best smile I can muster (which is still barely more than a twitch of my lips.) Finn reaches over and gives me a one-armed hug and a pat on the back, baby Lana grabs onto my tie as he steps away, stopping him from leaving. Rachel smiles at me and nods at Finn and before I really know how, I have a baby in my arms.

Her tiny hands lock onto me like a vice and for once I actually welcome the contact. I kiss the top of her head and barely realise I've started to cry again. Rachel notices my eyes and moves to take her away from me.

"No, it's okay," I croak. My voice is like gravel from its disuse. "Can I just hold her for a while?"

"Of course you can," Rachel smiles softly.

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><p>A while turns into the whole service but I'm glad I had her in my arms. Someone to hold onto. Someone to act as any sort of distraction from the reality that's crashing down around me. This time she's the one who cries when Finn takes her away to be fed.<p>

"He wouldn't want you to mope, Blaine," Rachel sniffs as we walk away from the freshly buried body of my husband as the rest of the party go their separate ways.

I don't reply. What can I say?

"He'd want you to move on with your life."

"What if I don't want to?" I ask after a moment.

Rachel stops walking. "What's that supposed to mean?" she barely holds back her sob.

"I mean… You don't know what it feels like," I cry. "You have Finn, you have Lana! I had…" I can't even say his name. "But what do I have now? Everything was perfect! We were going to adopt and then he was… It was too soon!"

"You still have me, Blaine," Rachel sniffs. "You have me and Finn and Lana. You have mom."

I scoff. "Mom? Where is she, then? If she cares so much, where is she!"

"She's very busy at work," Rachel lies, tears steam down her face now.

"She hates him," I clarify. "And you know what, I don't blame her. I hate him too."

"Blaine…"

I can barely see or talk or breathe because I'm crying so much, but I don't care. "I do. I hate him! What selfish asshole just walks in front of a car! Who even… For Chinese food? I waited. I sat and I waited. He didn't get a call from the hospital- He didn't have to… I did!"

"It's okay, Blaine. It's okay," Rachel comforts both of us through her tears, my legs give way and I collapse on the floor, she sits in the dirt track next to me and cradles my head as I mumble obscenities I don't mean under my breath.

"It's not," I argue. "None of this is okay. I love him so much and now he's gone. How is that fair?"

"It's not fair; it's life."

"It sucks, doesn't it," I say when my sobs have subsided after a while.

"It really does," she agrees. She kisses me on the forehead and then we help each other stand. I start to regret my outburst.

"I'm sorry for snapping."

"Don't be, Blaine. I'm just glad you're finally talking." She squeezes my hand gently, "Come on, we'll take you home."

I nod. "Can I just have a moment… alone?"

"Of course," she nods encouragement before walking off to stand with Finn and Lana by their car.

I walk back to the grave, people giving their last respects pat me on the shoulder and say "I'm sorry for your loss," as they walk away to give me some privacy. It seems silly to say 'loss'. I didn't lose him, he's right there; he's taken from me, not lost.

Standing here now, I have no idea what to say. Hundreds of things come to mind, angry outbursts, mostly, but it's all futile. I bring the wedding ring I put on the chain around my neck up to my lips, it seems like the most reasonable gesture. "I love you, Sebastian."

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><p><em>AN: TROLOLOLOLOLOLOL. I BET YOU THOUGHT IT WAS KURT DIDN'T YOU? I GOTCHA! What is with me today? I'm like... floating on the fluff of Little Numbers._

_Anyway._

_Worth continuing?_

_Reviews = ... awesome cookies. I just really want a cookie._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Short chapter is short. Sorry, I'm trying to add chapters of as many as possible._

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

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><p>Time no longer exists. Or it does, maybe that's the problem. Sometimes I don't get out of bed, occasionally when I do I sit in the shower or lounge around in his favourite chair wearing his favourite oversized shirt. I see him everywhere. I smell him everywhere. Sometimes I swear I even hear his voice.<p>

"Blaine!"

That is not his voice.

I shield my eyes and roll over when the drapes are pulled open and the midday sunlight comes flooding in.

"Get up, we're going out," Rachel urges.

I groan in protest and throw my arm over my face. "Go away Rachel, I'm not in the mood," I mumble. I feel a sinking in the mattress and slope towards it slightly.

"Please Blaine," she says softly. "You've been cooped up in here for weeks; you haven't left since the funeral."

My throat tightens but I ignore it and hold his pillow closer to my chest. "How did you even get in here?" I demand.

"Key under the doormat," she shrugs, ruffling my hair. "I'm putting my foot down, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, but I am leaving this house in fifteen minutes and you are coming with me."

Eventually she coaxes me out of bed and I trudge to the bathroom where I easily fall into my recent routine: keep rings on, ice cold water, lather soap, wash hair, dry, shave. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. That definitely can't be me. His lips are too thin, his cheeks are too sunken. He looks like hell. I look away. I slowly dress in the clothes Rachel has chosen for me, they're all too big. When I think I look presentable enough, I unlock the door and step into our bedroom.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!" I bellow. My stomach feels as though it has completely disappeared. Everything's changed. Everything's different. Our sheets have been stripped; his worn clothes have been piled in the wash basket in the corner. I can hear the hum from the washing machine in the other room, already extinguishing the relics of my husband.

"Blaine, calm down," Rachel warns as she takes fresh sheets from the cupboard. I step towards her furiously, shaking my head in disbelief.

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! YOU CAN'T JUST SHOW UP HERE AND CHANGE EVERYTHING, RACHEL!" My eyes are starting to blur with hateful tears but I fight them back.

"I'm doing what's best for you," she defends. I can see it upsets her, her own tears have made tracks in her makeup but that doesn't make me feel any better. If anything, it makes me angrier.

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!"

"Fine Blaine!" she snaps through tears. "Let's do this your way."

I stare at her, dumbfounded.

"Gee, I wonder when Sebastian will be home," she sighs.

"Stop," I warn her.

"Maybe if I wear all his clothes and watch his favourite films he'll come back–"

"Stop it!"

"And then I'll make dinner for him. He's bound to come home then!" She throws her hands up in the air and sobs. "I'm not going to let you turn into Miss Havisham, Blaine!"

I bite my lip so hard that warm blood fills my mouth. I no longer have it in me to hold back the tears. Rachel cries with me, too. We sit, we sob. I cling to her as though my life depends on it – which, in a way, is true. It hurts more than I ever thought it would, but eventually we stand up and I help her clean our house.

She cooks us a quick lunch before going out to her car, coming back and dragging empty cardboard boxes and marker pens with her. I swallow harshly, smothering the fear and guilt building up in my chest at what I'm about to do.

"To keep," Rachel states, writing in capitals on one of the boxes and placing it on the coffee table. "To charity," she marks another. "To throw," she says finally as she writes on the last box.

It's slow work. More often than not I cry, memories I thought I'd forgotten swim to the forefront of my mind and my chest tightens violently as cries wreck my body. Rachel opens our curtains and windows; she hoovers and washes the dishes and clothes. I mostly watch. She urges me to help sort his things but I'm useless. I need everything of his, everything has a story behind it and a memory laced with fondness. Even the tacky Christmas cracker key ring left on the side has a story. I hiccup a laugh as I remember how it had flown out of the cracker and scratched his eye, landing him in A&E for the night.

"I think that's enough for the day," Rachel says quietly while she takes the final load from the tumble drier and I cling the key ring to my chest.

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><p><em>AN: Next will be longer I promise :D_

_Reviews = happy cookies_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Sorry it's taken so long! I promise I am still working on this and We Could Be Heroes! Having a very stressful time at work and college so bear with :) Short chapter is short._

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

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><p>"Are you awake?"<p>

"I'm awake," I reply.

"Showered?"

"Showered," I confirm down the phone.

"And you're wearing the suit I hung up for you?"

I roll my eyes. "The suit is worn. Rachel I appreciate what you're doing but I don't need babysitting." I open the front door.

"Got your keys?" Rachel interrupts.

I pause and feel my pockets, pursing my lips slightly.

"They're by the fruit bowl," she laughs through the receiver.

"I know," I lie, feeling the first smile grace my lips in weeks. The smile quickly fades and guilt takes its place. "Listen, Rach, I'll call you from the office later, okay?"

"Alright," she says reluctantly, I hear her hesitate. "Call me if you need anything."

"Will do," I nod before hanging up the phone and heading out the door.

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><p>Going back to any sort of normality is harder than I could have possibly imagined. People send coffee and flowers up to my office nonstop and I have a steady stream of visitors throughout the day even though my sectary tries her best to stem the flow.<p>

"Mr Smythe-Anderson is a very busy man," I hear Brittany from the other side of my office door.

I pinch the bridge of my nose with a sigh and try to push the voices to the back of my head. It's only half past two, I still have to put up with another three and a half hours of doing work. Well, doing work and wallowing in self-pity is practically the same thing, right?

I stare blankly at the computer screen. It's gone onto standby from the lack of use. I'm sure I'm supposed to be sending emails or calling important people but for the life of me, I have no idea what it is I'm supposed to be selling.

"_Why do you work there?" Sebastian asks, pulling me close as he massages the knots out my back and shoulders._

"_Good pay?" I offer while I happily lean into his touch and close my eyes._

_He pinches the back of my neck and I jolt forward with a laugh._

"_Blaine, you're useless," Sebastian smiles. "Come on, I know you well enough to know you're not the office job type. What did you always say you wanted to be when you grew up? Fireman? Mailman? Milkman? Binman? …Batman?"_

"_Totally Batman," I roll my eyes and take his hand from my shoulder, pressing my lips softly against his palm and placing it over my heart, leaning back on his knee. We stay silent for a while before I take a deep breath, plucking up the courage to knock the walls down. "I picked up my first guitar when I was eight," I say. "I remember I was at my friend's house. His dad had a high-school band and there was this one room completely filled with old instruments. There were like four guitars, a banjo, a ukulele, a piano… I went straight for this beautiful red guitar and just started strumming along to it. I was awful," I grin and lean my head back on Sebastian's lap. He looks down at me with awe as I finally attempt to open up to him._

_I sigh. "My parents didn't like the idea of me being a musician. Unreliable source of income and whatnot… No, I had to be a banker or a lawyer or a doctor or some crap like that. I remember on my eleventh birthday, Rachel snuck me out. Apparently she'd been saving up for months and she took me to a music store and bought me my first guitar."_

_Sebastian laughs softly and places a kiss to my lips. "Thank you."_

"_For what?"_

"_For opening up to me," he shrugs._

_I twist uncomfortably and pull his lips to mine again, attempting to stand up with our mouths still connected before falling back onto the couch together._

The door opening and hushed protests snap me out of my reverie.

"–Very busy man!" Brittany stands objecting, balling her fists at her sides as she's pushed gently aside.

"Blaine," the intruder exclaims with his brow furrowed in sympathy.

"Mr A, I'm so sorry, you said no visitors and–"

"It's okay, Brittany. It's okay, he's an old friend."

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><p><em>AN: I hated my writing style in this so I had to rewrite it like a billion times. BLEGH. STILL NOT HAPPY BUT OH WELL._

_REVIEWS ARE CRACK TO ME :D_


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